


Immortal Warrior

by Yennefer_Maleficent_Black



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Gladiator AU, Inspired by The Old Guard, Minor Angst, Tissaia is probably OOC, Warrior!Tissaia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27054649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yennefer_Maleficent_Black/pseuds/Yennefer_Maleficent_Black
Summary: Tissaia is an immortal warrior who got herself captured in a bout of bad luck and now has to fight for her freedom. How does Yennefer tie into this? And how long will it take for Yen to get into Tissaia's heart?This was heavily inspired by the Netflix film The Old Guard, which I mainly watched because of mindmypensieve, so this one is on as well as for her.
Relationships: Sabrina Glevissig/Triss Merigold, Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 12
Kudos: 45





	1. The Fight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mindmypensieve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindmypensieve/gifts).



> May I add that I don't regret watching the movie because I am way too gay for Andy and it is probably not good for me. That being said this fanfiction is not meant to be historically accurate as I do not have the time to casually study ancient history on the side (sadly).
> 
> Disclaimer: Neither the world nor the characters of the witcher belong to me. No money has been made from this and no copyright infringement was intended.

The crowd gave a loud cheer, only muffled by the thickness of the stone walls that built Tissaia's cell, and the brunette concluded that the fight between the two gladiators before her had ended. Bloody, judging by the sheer joy in the people's voices. A lot of rumours circulated about these games and Tissaia believed in those that said the spectators were bloodthirsty and loved seeing well-matched combatants. She could only guess what kind of fighter she would have to face in there, though she knew for sure that she would survive it. No matter what it would take.

The fact that she had to contest in the first place was almost embarrassing for her, considering how she had ended up in this forsaken cell. The day before, Tissaia had gotten herself captured by a group of soldiers who had gotten in a lucky hit on her, but not before she had taken a significant amount of them down. The brunette had been unlucky enough for that incident to have happened in the city and close to the amphitheatre, so despite her healing powers, she had been unable to do anything against the shackles placed around her wrists.

A pair of soldiers came to a stop in front of her cell and rattled with the keys as they opened the iron gate. Their gaze inside was met with cool, calculating, blue eyes, and Tissaia could see them shiver from the lack of emotion in her eyes. Even if they weren't aware of it, they had no reason to fear her like that. Her friends would help her out of this situation, and so all she had to do was play along and wait for an opportunity to escape. Therefore, killing the soldiers would do her no good at this point.

Glad to see that one of them carried her trusty labrys, the battle-axe she had carried longer than she could remember, Tissaia stood tall as always – despite being small in size – and followed the men to the gate separating her from her opponent. The man - or boy, rather - who carried her axe looked at her in blatant hesitation before taking an extra step back and throwing the axe into the sand near her feet.

A snort escaped the woman as she went to pick up her weapon. Word about her deeds had obviously been widely discussed at this point, and she couldn't find it within herself to think of the boy as pathetic, no matter how ridiculous his display of fear seemed.

The gate behind her rattled down slowly as Tissaia turned her gaze towards the arena. Her sharp eyes saw a man with silver hair standing in the middle, a body lay off to the side. The figure looked small and fragile as it lay unmoving in the sand, yet the only features the brunette could make out were brown hair and dark red clothes. Whether the red had always been red or was the result of a brutal fight, Tissaia couldn't tell.

The rusty iron gate in front of her moved up slowly. Far too slow for her liking, as she itched to meet her opponent. She was not eager to kill him, no, she only wished to get this farce over with and return to her freedom. Slavery didn't suit her well, she had learnt that back in her childhood days, though those were a distant memory at this point.

Having lived for close to four millennia meant that time had taken quite a few of her memories, not that she missed them overly much. Missing what was gone would only slow Tissaia down and distract her from things that truly mattered in the presence.

Stepping out of the shadows the walls cast, she glanced at the nearly empty balcony where royalty had their seats, away from the common rabble. There, on his golden throne, sat the Emperor, giving off an almost perfect air of boredom. Anyone else would have been fooled into thinking the young man did not have a thirst for blood.

To his left sat a woman, not situated in something as elegant as a throne, so the brunette assumed she was not his wife, the empress. She did not doubt that the raven-haired woman rivalled the beauty of said empress, however. The most captivating of her features - that Tissaia could see from all the way down in the arena - were lilac eyes, piercing her as they shone with unconcealed interest.

Turning back to her opponent, she gave him a quick once over, taking in the silver hair, his set jaw and golden eyes, as well as his worn leather armour and chain mail. A sword rested in his hand in a most relaxed manner, and to the untrained eye, it would have seemed as though he was short of dropping it.

The second sword on his back gave him away, as Tissaia had heard of him before. His name was Geralt, the White Wolf, known for hunting in the emperor's forests without permission, repeatedly, and thus serving his sentence as a prized gladiator. Tissaia couldn't help but wonder whether the skilled man had ever lost a fight, as praise of his fighting prowess was sung far and wide.

When the Wolf bowed in respect for his opponent, Tissaia narrowed her eyes but tilted her head nonetheless. The man had a basic understanding of decency, so she might as well show him some resemblance of respect in return. Not too much though, lest he could mistake her for a weak little thing. Which, to be entirely fair, she would play at first. Going all out on an adversary she had never seen fighting before would be a mistake only committed by young fighters, and Tissaia was anything but.

After the exchange of pleasantries, the emperor got up and stood at the edge of the balcony, addressing the people. "This is the second adversary we chose for our famous white wolf, to face him and entertain us during our festivities in honour of my most trusted adviser, the Lady Yennefer of Verngerberg!" As he gestured towards the raven-haired woman, a thought shot through Tissaia's head, one that severely doubted the legitimacy of him calling the woman a Lady. While Tissaia couldn't quite place her finger on the source of her doubts, she could say with certainty that there was entirely too much mischief found in those violet eyes.

"To reiterate the rules applying to this esteemed event, you may only use the weapons you have on you now and it would be appreciated if both of you came out of this alive. The jury recognises, however, that this is a battle between champions, and that there really is no way of knowing how it might end. Now, on your mark," with those words, Tissaia slowly slid into an awkward position with a few footing mistakes. Just because the emperor had outed her as so-called champion did not mean she had to show the Wolf that.

Impossibly yellow eyes watched her attentively, humour glimmering in them as he asked, "Will I come out of this alive?" Slowly, almost lazily, he swung his sword at her. It was too easy for Tissaia to step out of the way, and there was no doubt that he simply sought to test her skills.

These were the most basic of moves, Tissaia noted to her annoyance. She wondered whether the man tried tricking her or if he simply didn't think to use moves outside of his routine. Looking at his dim eyes, she doubted that he was cunning enough to try and trick her like that.

The next lazy swing of his sword was met with her axe, effectively blocking it and holding it in place. With a slight upturn of her nose and a disdainful smile, she said, "Yes, unless you give me a reason to kill you."

As soon as she had finished that sentence, the sword made a singing sound as it slid out of the hold and Tissaia lightly swung at him. He sidestepped the axe, of course. Tissaia had expected him to. And unlike her, he didn't play games anymore, no, he showed exactly what he fought like in one simple step. He showed precision, efficiency and zero tolerance for flashy show tricks. In other words, this man would be as deadly to her as he had been to his prior opponent. Would be, had Tissaia not had quite as much experience.

Deciding against moving too soon, the brunette waited for the wolf's next move. That move came in the form of the exact same swing, with just a bit more force behind it. Pirouetting out of the way graciously, she aimed the flat side of her axe low to knock him off his feet and watched with satisfaction as she managed to slice the top of the man's boots.

Geralt, in turn, let out a growl that could barely be heard as he fell to his knees. To Tissaia's dismay, however, he delivered a perfect roll in the sand and got back up in a matter of seconds, facing her again. Giving him a condescending smile, she wondered where the man had acquired his skills, as the gladiator school certainly did not offer training this advanced.

He did not give her much time to ponder. This time he came after her with a dagger added to the heft of his sword. Tissaia dodged his first swing by jumping back a few paces and parried the second, trapping the blade within her labrys again as she stepped close to the man. For a moment the brunette held her axe in place, withstanding the pressure the man put into his sword in an effort of getting out of her hold.

Then, quick as a viper, she removed her left hand from the hilt, letting the axe swing to her right in a controlled motion that followed his pressure, and delivered a well-placed punch to the wolf's throat. He had obviously not expected her to make such a bold move, which could have very well ended with the loss of her hand. Thanks to Tissaia's healing abilities, that calculated risk was more than acceptable for her to take. Especially as it caused Geralt to stumble back and drop the dagger, which she swiftly swiped out of his reach with her axe.

Not losing her momentum, she caught up to him, her axe slicing through the air and only stopping bare inches away from his throat, halting what would have been a fatal blow. All he had managed against it was raising his sword and barely gracing the side of her ribcage, her armour torn from his weak stab.

His eyes went wide and Tissaia knew that, even though the spectators couldn't possibly have seen anything, the man had witnessed her skin immediately closing up again, leaving no trace of an injury behind. With a disdainful mask in place, she shifted her axe for just about an inch, but that proved to be enough to scrape the skin at Geralt's neck. "You either keep this secret until the day you die, or you will not walk out of here."

Her voice didn't waver, betrayed no insincerity or insecurity. The man knew she would murder him if he didn't comply. He exhaled, threw his sword into the sand as he dropped to his knees, and answered, "your business is yours, and I know better than to make an enemy of someone with your skillset." Once Tissaia was sure of his sincerity, she elegantly lifted her axe and put it into the strapping mechanism on her back, where it clicked into place immediately.

Only then did she notice the cheer of the crowd, though it was dulled substantially by the blood rushing through her veins, her adrenaline still running high. Unsure of what exactly was expected of her - people rarely cheered her on while fighting - she lifted a hand and waved at the people.

In front of her, Geralt had gotten up and now extended his hand. She gave hers to him, watching as he placed a delicate kiss on top of it. Nobody else heard his whisper as he assured her, "should you ever find yourself in need of help I can provide, do not hesitate to ask." Giving him a graceful smile, she decided against returning the sentiment.

From the balcony, the emperor stood by the megaphone again, waiting for the crowd to quiet down and looking fairly intrigued himself. Tissaia couldn't blame him, as nobody had yet lived to tell the tales of her fighting style, and she was aware of its uniqueness.

"Congratulations! The first to defeat the mighty wolf! Thank you for showing him the kindness of letting him live to see another day. He is, after all, a favourite in the arena. Come up, come up and claim your prize!" With that, he stepped away again, and two soldiers motioned for her from the edge of the arena, showing her through a door and up the stairs. On their way, a young-looking man crossed their path. He had been on the balcony earlier, except now all the colour had left his face and he hurried through the corridors, lute on his back, barely paying attention to who he ran into. Confusion would have spread through Tissaia, had she not seen the young bard make heart eyes at the gladiator she just faced.

Not showing any reaction, the brunette continued her way down the corridor between the soldiers. They were still nasty around her, she noticed. That was probably beneficial to them.

Head held high, she entered a private room which Tissaia assumed connected directly to the balcony. Her eyes immediately fell onto the raven-haired woman who currently sat in an overly big armchair. Yennefer looked at her, an interested glimmer shining in violet depths as she leaned forward, raised a goblet and asked, "Care for some apple juice?"

The emperor's laughter interrupted her before she could even begin to form an answer, and he interjected, "Now now, Yennefer, I don't feel as though you can quite handle this one." Tissaia narrowed her eyes at the man's crude implication, but yet again she didn't get to answer, this time because of Yennefer, "oh, I don't know about that, my liege, I do so love a challenge."

Exasperated, Tissaia took a deep breath before saying, "If you intend on talking about me rather than with me, I'd prefer taking my leave now, your majesty." At that, the two looked at her with surprise, though there was still mischief sparkling in Yennefer's eyes and Tissaia couldn't help but wonder what it would take for her to lose that spark.


	2. The Trap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's part two! Let me know what you think. And maybe I could write one or two chapters more, depending on whether you want it or not. You can always find me on Tumblr and let me know if you do :)
> 
> Disclaimer: Neither the world nor the characters of the Witcher belong to me. I make no profit off of this and no copyright infringement was intended.

Instead of taking offence, the emperor chuckled, said something about getting her price and left the room. Eyebrows raised, Tissaia watched the door close behind him and muttered, “My freedom would be preferable.”

Yennefer, who had a slight frown on her face, looked at her and quipped, “What, is my company not satisfactory for you?” though she sounded distracted. Warily, Tissaia studied the woman and, after a moment, she guessed, “He usually doesn’t get prices himself, does he?” tension seized her muscles when Yennefer shook her head, and Tissaia was alert again. She had just won a fight, but she would win another if need be.

Turning back to the door, it opened up as if on cue, and back in came the emperor with another man. The man looked dark and dangerous with his black cloak and hood obscuring half his face, the other half painted with dark makeup. Blue eyes bored into Tissaia’s, and a shiver went down her spine. This man knew no mercy and he sure as hell had no morals, all he cared for was money and murder.

Cheerfully, so unfitting to the overall mood in the room, Virfuril announced, “Well then! Before I can have the gold brought to you, Lady Tissaia, we actually have something to get taken care of. I trust you will be discreet about this, for you see, Lady Yennefer here has overstayed her welcome and the empress was not impressed by your newest antics.”

Glancing over to the raven-haired woman, Tissaia noticed that, what little colour the woman had had in her face, had now drained away completely. The assassin already started into her direction, and he had a fast pace when Tissaia knew she needed to make a decision. Would she stand by and watch a presumably innocent woman get murdered in cold blood, or would she interfere and risk having to fight her own way out of the extremely well-guarded arena?

A deep sigh escaped the brunette when she realized she couldn’t stand by, her morals forbid it and there was no disputing that. Tissaia moved as quick as a viper, pulling her labrys from her back and swinging it at the unsuspecting assassin. The dagger in his hand had been too close to Yennefer’s throat already, and so when Tissaia cut off his arm shortly before sharply turning her axe and driving it into his throat, the dagger cut the raven-haired woman’s throat. Not deep enough to be fatal, not anytime soon, but it was definitely deeper than a slight nick.

Not waiting for the emperor to react and call the guards, Tissaia grabbed Yennefer’s arm and dragged her behind her towards the door and down the corridor. “If you know the best way to get out of here, then your pointers would be appreciated right about now,” she panted as they dodged guards left and right. At that, Yennefer snapped out of her stupor and started giving her directions, enabling them to be out of the arena two minutes later.

Just out the door, they ran into two women, clad in armour. One of them, the blonde, carried a longsword while the other, a brunette with long, curly hair, sported a sheathed willow leaf sabre. Giving them a small smile, Tissaia said, “Sabrina, Triss, how nice of you to come by. Where is Philippa? Not causing any trouble, I hope.”

Triss giggled as Sabrina explained that she was still sleeping off her hangover at their safehouse, and all Tissaia could do was roll her eyes. Turning her gaze at Yennefer, she started to say something before she took in the state of her neck and felt her words catch in her throat. There should’ve been a cut on the woman’s neck, but there wasn’t. It had healed completely, without a trace of the wound that should have been there, as indicated by the blood that had trickled down the neckline and into the dress she wore.

Incredulous, Tissaia stepped into Yennefer’s personal space and jerked her head to the side, closely examining the soft flesh. “Tissaia? Are you alright?” sounded Triss’ concerned voice from behind her, but Tissaia found herself too busy staring into unnaturally violet eyes. A slight glimmer of comprehension and fear could be seen in Yennefer’s eyes as she brought a shaking hand up to her own neck, feeling for the wound. Eyes widening almost unnaturally, she looked back and forth between the three women and asked, “What is happening? Who are you people? What sorcery is this?”

Trying to do a bit of damage control, Tissaia reigned in her own thoughts, which had been running overtime in her head, and said, “Calm down, Yennefer, and remember we are on the run from the emperor now. We can give you answers, but we cannot risk giving them to you here. Follow us and if you don’t like what you hear, you will be free to leave at any given point.” With a shaky nod from her, Tissaia led her past Sabrina and Triss, who eyed her with a mixture of pity and curiosity but followed suit. They had originally come to the arena to get Tissaia out in the first place, no doubt, so there was no reason for them to stay any longer than necessary.

They set a relaxed but determined pace, taking every dark alley they could and avoiding the guards patrolling the big city. Word about the incident with the assassin had likely not gotten out yet, and there were no more guards than usual, so they had an easy time sneaking out of the city. Their safe house stood just an hour outside the city borders, close to one of the surrounding villages. The building had been abandoned due to regular flooding in the area, though their house had never been affected directly. It had just been too close a call for the people living there to continue doing so comfortably. Their loss was Tissaia’s gain. Her and her group’s, that is.

Once inside, Sabrina and Triss quickly joined a brunette sitting at the table with a cup of tea in her hands. The curtains blocked out sunlight, more so than usual, and the house’s occupant kept her head down, not acknowledging the new company. Raising an eyebrow, Tissaia approached and said, “Glad to see you still amongst the living, though that seems a relative term with you these days.” All she got as an answer was an unhappy grunt. Pulling her axe from her back, she chuckled and grabbed the cloth on the table.

Eyes focused on her weapon, she began cleaning it. After a moment’s silence, she added, “Why don’t you say hello to our new addition, Philippa?” and watched the brunette from under her lashes, trying to assess her reaction. Said reaction was, of course, one of great interest. Her head snapped up with only a hint of a wince as her black eyes met violet ones. When an almost wolfish grin started to form on her face, Tissaia immediately interrupted her train of thought and growled, “No, Philippa! None of that. I can do without your dramatics for the rest of my life, however long that may be.”

“Since we are already on the topic of the rest of one’s life, maybe we should start giving our Lady here some answers,” suggested Triss, being her usual helpful self. The whole group made it a point to help anyone in need whenever possible, but Triss’ heart caused her to always go the extra mile as it appeared to consist of gold.

“My name is Yennefer of Vengerberg, and I appreciate your hospitality, though I would like answers as well,” replied the raven-haired woman after a glass of water had been shoved into her hands and a plate of food found its way in front of her. The slightest of smiles crept onto Tissaia’s face as she looked at her, considering her answer for a while. Having her reject them would only cause trouble for all of them. “It would appear that you are like us now, immortal with accelerated healing abilities. We cannot tell you why this is happening to you now, or why it happened to any of us. What I can tell you, though, is that you have an extraordinarily long life ahead of you and that your immortality cannot be passed on. There is no telling how long it will last, exactly, as we lost one of our own a century back. He had been quite old at the time though.”

As Yennefer blinked in a desperate attempt to comprehend what she had just been told, Philippa proved to be the least considerate person in the room and said, “Served him right, the bugger was getting fat and entitled. Maybe that’s what cost him his gift, the thought of being owed shit.” Tissaia threw her a sharp glance, once the woman did not seem to notice – or more likely care about – but the fact that Yennefer did not seem uncomfortable in the slightest proved that she had a similar view than the brunette across the table.

Apparently trying to change the subject to avoid Philippa breaking out into a rant, Yennefer asked how old all of them were. “Well,” began Philippa, “I’m just about eight-hundred years old. You lose track after a while, really. Got the gift shortly after Djikstra, though I am glad he is gone. Not every love story between immortals turns out as rosy as the story of those two love birds.” She nodded to Sabrina and Triss, causing Yen to look at the two expectantly.

Sabrina, clearly burning to tell the story, sat up a little straighter while Triss avoided eye-contact with anyone at the table. “Triss and I met about three-hundred years ago when the Empire first sent soldiers south-east of here to conquer the lands. I was a designated interpreter to make sure there were no misunderstandings, and dear Triss was studying botany at their local library as it was raided… let me tell you, burning alive is not the most pleasurable thing we have been through together.” At that last sentence, Triss had to giggle whereas Tissaia only scoffed.

That scoff, however, got Yennefer’s attention. “What about you?” she asked. “How long have you been around?” Not wanting to answer right away, not willing to think about the tremendous amount of time she had spent wandering the earth alone, with nobody like her at her side. After a tremendously drawn-out moment, she answered, “longer than the three of them combined. I’m also the one who taught those two how to fight since all they knew until then was languages and botany. If my assessment of you is correct, I will have to do the same for you, because even if you chose to leave I’d rather have you wander the world knowing how to defend yourself.”

Sensing that she would not get a better answer to her question, Yennefer turned to her cup and drank from it. Now that she had gotten her answers, she apparently felt content enough to accept staying with the group for a while. Turning away from the beautiful woman, Tissaia asked Philippa, “Did you get us anything to eat after you slept off your ridiculous hangover?” When all she got in return proved to be a scathing look she added, “I thought not.”

Sabrina and Triss understood the cue and stood up to go and find something edible in the area. Tissaia inspected her nails as she pursed her lips momentarily before getting up herself and telling Yennefer to follow her. In the backroom, she rifled through a closet and found some clothes that looked to be fitting for the raven-haired woman and handed them to her, saying, “Here, there is a bathroom with some water through that door, get yourself cleaned up if you like.”

The woman looked at her as though she was joking. When Tissaia showed no sign of that being the case, she carefully said, “You just spent a night in a cell and fought the greatest warrior we had to offer. A testament to that is the tear in your shirt, and while it looks quite fetching on you, I can’t imagine you like walking around with torn clothes. So I simply have to ask, why don’t you want to go first?” Tissaia chuckled at that and, with a boldness that surprised herself, she countered, “you have blood running down your neck so I simply assumed you wanted to get rid of that. If you are so concerned for my wellbeing, however, we can simply share the washroom. It is big enough for two people, after all.”

A wolfish grin started showing growing on Yennefer’s face, and she didn’t hesitate in grasping the smaller woman’s hand and practically dragging her towards the door. “You are awfully keen on getting me all to yourself, considering that you met me today and witnessed me almost kill a man,” Tissaia commented with raised eyebrows as the door closed behind them. She did not want to know what conclusions Philippa jumped to right about now, if her hangover let her notice in the first place.

“Can you honestly blame me?” Yennefer asked with all the innocence in the world, “You are the most beautiful and intriguing woman I have ever met, and now it turns out we actually have something in common beyond being gorgeous. Do you honestly expect me to stay away from you?” A grin managed to slip onto Tissaia’s face, and she looked to the floor before her eyes could give away any emotions as she let out a throaty chuckle. This woman was honest, she quite liked that. Which did not mean that she would admit that any time soon.

And the beauty of it was that she wouldn’t have to. Yennefer wouldn’t go anywhere anytime soon, and even if she did, she would still be alive. Tissaia wasn’t going to lose this one within the next decades. Keeping that in mind, she decided to choose the way of least resistance for once in her life and play the game, even if it meant being more flirtatious than she usually liked being. With a coy smile on her lips she looked back up, into violet depths, and said, “Well, it is very nice of you to let me know so blatantly what I can use to motivate you in your upcoming training sessions with me. Be warned though, I am not known for going easy on any of my students, and I don’t show favouritism.”

With that, she turned away and began undressing so she could wash up. It went unsaid that nothing would happen in this particular setting, and neither woman tried anything that Tissaia would’ve deemed inappropriate.

True to her word, Tissaia did not go easy on the raven-haired woman the next morning. And though Yennefer was less than happy about that, she gave her best to get the reward which Tissaia had dangled in front of her face so blatantly. That Tissaia had high standards had been obvious to her from the way she had seen her fight Geralt, but even so, she severely underestimated just how much Tissaia would kick her ass to teach her the art of fighting. And every night that she fell into bed, she wondered how long it would take her to get to the level Tissaia would deem good enough to give her said reward and, ultimately, if she thought her worthy of trying to build a relationship as strong as the one Sabrina and Triss had


End file.
